June 26, 2011 Gospel: Matthew 10:40-42 1st Reading: Jeremiah 28:5-9
Psalm 89:1-4, 15-18 2nd Reading: Romans 6:12-23
“Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me,” Jesus says. The good news for this morning is God’s welcome and our welcome. I was pondering this week so many times I have been welcomed throughout my life. And I was thinking about the kind of welcome I do and don’t extend, the kind of welcome I want to extend and how God wants that for me.
I have a confession to make, and that is that even though I have preached probably 40 welcome sermons, I have been challenged in my welcome this year. It wasn’t anyone who hurt me or my family. That would be more about forgiveness, one side of welcome. My grandma wrote me in December to tell me in advance of our Christmas celebration that two of my cousins were getting married to each other. Yes, I told you I am from a hick family. Yes they are first cousins. No that is not legal in Oregon, but California is one of two states where it is. The border is not too far from here and Oregon honors those marriages performed there. I confess that when I heard the news I immediately called each of my three siblings and snickered and cackled with them about how messed up our family is and had quite a good time gossiping. My sense of welcome was challenged.
Although I still struggle with it, I mostly got over it, so that when my brother called me a month later to tell me they were expecting a child, he was disappointed I didn’t get worked up into a tizzy again. Some in the family have shunned them—won’t come to family gatherings where they show up. It is sad to miss out on family time because of something like that. I guess I focused on the question—what does it hurt us? It is really none of our business.
What about their child, you ask? Doesn’t it hurt their child? They did their research. Children born to first cousins still have a really low birth defect rate. It is only when cousins marry cousins marry cousins that you start getting into trouble. They’ve had all kinds of genetic testing and so far so good. So as long as their child marries outside the family, which is the usual trend, everything should be fine.
So what does this have to do with the Gospel—it has to do with welcome. Christmas at grandma’s was quite sparse this year and I know it has something to do with those two cousins being there and others staying home because of them. I was shocked when grandma told me two days before the gathering, but I was planning to go to grandma’s anyway and see my mom and family. I wasn’t about to change my plans because my cousins are weird. And I even managed to croak out a “congratulations” to them. Yesterday my cousins had a baby shower and I went. You need family and friends around you, even when they do things you don’t understand, and my family falls into that category all the time. What does the shunning accomplish—nothing. It mainly hurts the one doing the cutting-off. Some of my other cousins missed seeing grandma—and who knows how many more Christmases we’ll have with her? They broke a family connection. I still hope they’ll eventually come around and get over it for their own good. I don’t advocate cousin marriage and I have to look inside myself for my more kind and welcoming side when it comes to this situation, but when I think of how I want my family and friends to treat me when they disagree with something I do, I have to treat my cousins like I’d want to be treated and let it go.
Welcome is one thing we can offer each other—no matter how poor we are, we can give a glass of cold water. We can share what little we have. We can open up our space to others, whether it is our home, our church, or a spot at out picnic table at the park. I have a stack of books in my office from one of my favorite homeless people, Michael. He shared with me even when he didn’t even have a pair of socks to wear or a place to lay his head. I have a devotional given to be by Lennie, another homeless man I met in this area and I use it often at meetings and when I need a word of encouragement—and it is by Eugene Peterson, one of my favorite authors, and Lennie knew what I would like and what to give me. Others have shared a song or a prayer or a story. In all these ways I have been welcomed by people who had seemingly nothing to give. Yet they had a welcome to give. And I think many of them knew the meaning of hospitality because they had experiences of receiving it and knowing how much it meant, and of not receiving it and knowing how much that hurt.
Most of us are not living hand to mouth. We live in relative comfort. Maybe the question of whether we will be welcomed or not is not foremost on our minds. We may take it a little bit for granted. We don’t expect to be thrown out of a store for our appearance or scent. We expect our pew in church. We expect people to talk to us instead of standing apart and staring. Yet, when we think about it, we know about welcome and we have experienced its opposite both for ourselves or for a loved one. Some of us have struggled with depression, anxiety, and mental illness and probably all of us know someone who has. How can we be more welcoming to people going through that kind of hell? Some of us are divorced, have tattoos, are bald, are getting older, have been considered too short, struggle with hearing or vision loss, have struggled with drug and alcohol abuse, have been put in categories because of our gender or appearance. Many of your children and grandchildren are estranged from church, they just don’t see the relevance. They don’t see the welcome, only the judgment they’ve experienced. It is too bad because it only takes one bad experience to ruin all the good ones. Some of us here may be gay or lesbian and have family members and friends who have known the pain of rejection because of their sexual orientation. How can we be more welcoming to all people who have known the pain of being left out or shunned?
God says to welcome. Jesus showed us that he really means everybody. The good news is about welcome. I think it is partly because we know the pain of being left out and we have felt it for our friends and family, that we want to be sure that everyone knows they are welcome here. And many of us know what a comfort a congregation can be, how much it has mean to each person here, to be able to grow and learn and share and know God’s love and generosity. We want other people to have that experience. That’s why we became a Reconciling in Christ congregation, a welcoming congregation who puts it out there that this is a welcoming place.
Now when I first read the second lesson for today, I found it a little discouraging. I even joked with Gordon about putting “The Wages of Sin is Death” on the sign board outside! “Sin” is mentioned 10 times in that reading, as well as wickedness, shame, slavery, death, iniquity, and all those downers. I’m not opposed to downers. I can be a pessimist with the best/worst of them. But I am opposed to discouragement. I think when Paul wrote this, he was trying to show them the reality of where they were and what the consequences would be if they kept up the same old ways. And he was trying to show them their freedom now that they had Christ and his free gift of eternal life.
So I was pondering all the meanings of sin: our actions, motivations, thoughts, selfishness, brokenness, limitations, attempts to prove that we are good enough, etc. But I think for today, a good definition for sin is a lack of welcome. It is denying a relationship. It is pushing people away. It is pushing God away who is coming to us in that other person. It not only hurts them, but it hurts us because we lose out on that interaction in which we might have learned something or been able to share what we have with them. And the wages of that lack of welcome is death. It is a loss of hope for growth. It is the death of a relationship. A little of us dies when we don’t have those interactions that God is trying to give us by throwing people on our path, in our faces.
But the good news is still the welcome. My cousins took the risk to invite me to their party this weekend. Certainly people refused their invitation, but I know I need my cousins and family. I may need their help someday. And I can learn how to be a more welcoming person by being with them and welcoming them. Jesus took the risk of welcoming us by coming among us and spending time with those we normally wouldn’t welcome. His welcome was offensive so we gave him the boot. We crucified him on the cross, hoping we could shun and ignore him and get back to business as usual—welcoming only those who could so something for us. But Jesus came back from the grave to say that even killing him couldn’t kill his welcome. God is love. God is welcome. We are God’s children, and it is up to us to spread that welcome for our own good and the good of a hurting world.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sermon for Graycie's baptism and Trinity Sunday
June 19, 2011 Gospel: Matthew 28:16-20 1st Reading: Genesis 1:1-2:4
Psalm 8 2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Dear Graycie Angel, today is your baptism day. Today we’re doing what the Gospel tells us to do without delay, baptizing in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. I hope you are reminded every Trinity Sunday of your baptism and the way your parents and grandparents wanted you to know you were a child of God and how special you are, that they gave you back to God and to the community of Christ on this day. And I hope you remember it every day—how big God’s love is for you and for all God’s people and the whole Creation.
At this age you probably understand the Holy Trinity as well as any of us. It isn’t always something we can understand. One God, Three persons or functions. I guess it is just our way of saying that God does so much for us. How could we ever put it into words or images? It says that although God lives inside you and each of us, that God is also big and everywhere. When we start church we say what it says in 2 Corinthians today, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the Communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” It is a way of reminding ourselves that God is present with us. We are at church and God is here with us, like a mini roll call, naming the one we can’t see, but certainly experience. Really we could say this kind of thing anywhere, just reminding ourselves that God is with us and calling on all three of God’s names.
How grand is that to know that the grace of Jesus Christ is with us! That’s a lot of grace. No wonder Lutherans are so attached to grace! Grace is in your name, isn’t it—a good reminder of God’s love for you. It is a good reminder of your parents’ love for you. It is a good reminder of the community’s love for you. Grace means loved no matter what. It means forgiven when you make mistakes. It means that you are a gift of grace to us, a reminder of what is good. There may be times when you feel sad or angry, not graceful at all. But your name always stays the same to remind you of how God graces us with love and gifts and talents and hope—how everything is a gift from God. Even when you aren’t feeling particularly graceful, remember who you are, and know that you aren’t alone.
Secondly, we are offered the love of God. How big a love is that? God, in love, created all things, as we hear in the reading from Genesis. God was lonely. God wanted to relate to others. God had a lot of love to give—so God created everything, including you, Graycie. And God continues to create the world and each of us. That is obvious by the way you’re growing and learning. Just like God does, we too, get to love each other. If God created us good and loved us, we shouldn’t disrespect what God made, but instead love each other and treat each other like we’d like to be treated. And that includes this planet that God made. We are to love the animals and the plants, the seas, and the sky and all creation. God is love. We are God’s children, so love is what we’re all about, too.
And finally we’re offered the communion of the Holy Spirit. God didn’t want us to feel alone. God sent us Jesus to go through what we go through and see what it is like to be a toddler in a new situation or a teenager experiencing hormones, or a young man trying to find meaning in life, or an innocent person accused of crimes and sentenced to death, or a misunderstood teacher, or a guy who just wanted a moment’s peace, or a person who loved people so much that he gave of himself without holding back. Whatever you’re experiencing in life, Graycie, God knows what you’re going through and is going through it with you. You aren’t alone. God understands.
And when it was time for Jesus to ascend, he wanted to make sure we knew that we’d still know that God is right here with us. So we get the Holy Spirit. Sometimes we think of the Holy Spirit as God living in our heart. That works to a certain extent. But it is also important to remember that it is when we are together in community that we really experience the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is between people, or between people and nature. It is when we come together that we are strengthened in our faith. We can remind each other of the stories either from the Bible, or that our parents shared with us about their faith, or stories about how our family came through a crisis or worked together to solve a problem, or faced grief and found hope. The Holy Spirit is with us when we gather to worship and try to puzzle out our faith or work through our doubts. It helps us ask questions of ourselves and God. On our own, we might figure some of it out, but isn’t it so much better in community when you know you aren’t the only one asking that question and others with more experience have gone before and can shed some light on the situation—give it some perspective.
The Holy Spirit connects us with God. She connects us with our family. She connects us with our church community. And she connects us with all of Christianity in all times in all places, those who have gone before and those who will come after us. The Holy Spirit is about communion and community.
So now that I’ve explained it all, you are all set for a life of faith, aren’t you? We’ll, I tell you, Graycie, I wish we could give you all the answers. I wish we could hand you a lifetime of faith and that you’d breeze right through. But we all have to admit that most of the time we don’t get it, either. Like the disciples in Matthew, we also doubt. We lose our way. We screw up royally. We’re all just bumbling along together, trusting God to lead our little flock of sheep, feed us, and care for us, etc. There is no one right way to be loving. There is such a thing as cheap grace and people take advantage of one another’s forgiveness. And people in community are not always pleasant to be around. Being a Christian is messy. Being a person is messy. You might like that idea now, but there will be a time when you’d like it to all come together and it won’t. But that isn’t the end of the world. God doesn’t need us to be perfect or to have all the answers, not even the pastor has to! Instead God asks us to trust and to seek and to love and God will make something beautiful of all our messes.
Father’s day is a wonderful day for celebrating the Trinity and having a baptism. Fathers know what it is like to live in the tension, for there not to be any right answers. From what I understand fatherhood and parenthood is partly about taking it as it comes, responding to each situation individually. It seems to be kind of a guess and check system, learning as you go. Knowing yourselves I think helps with parenthood and sometimes make it harder. The deep bond your parents have with each other is helpful—they’ve been through difficult things before and made it through and can bumble their way through the next one, too, and the next and the next. Watch your father, Graycie, and you will learn what it means to have faith and to try and sometimes fail and sometimes succeed, but also to know grace and have the freedom to try again.
In the same way, we can look to God the Father to try to figure out how to respond to our world. We can look to the love, grace, and communion all wrapped up in what God has in that great big diaper bag to lavish on us. Whether it is fatherhood, grandfatherhood, health issues, addiction, employment or lackthereof, family, church, or anything, we are not alone, we are accepted and loved, we are a part of something bigger, and ultimately we can find peace and hope even in the messy, confusing ambiguity that is life.
Psalm 8 2nd Reading: 2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Dear Graycie Angel, today is your baptism day. Today we’re doing what the Gospel tells us to do without delay, baptizing in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. I hope you are reminded every Trinity Sunday of your baptism and the way your parents and grandparents wanted you to know you were a child of God and how special you are, that they gave you back to God and to the community of Christ on this day. And I hope you remember it every day—how big God’s love is for you and for all God’s people and the whole Creation.
At this age you probably understand the Holy Trinity as well as any of us. It isn’t always something we can understand. One God, Three persons or functions. I guess it is just our way of saying that God does so much for us. How could we ever put it into words or images? It says that although God lives inside you and each of us, that God is also big and everywhere. When we start church we say what it says in 2 Corinthians today, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the Communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” It is a way of reminding ourselves that God is present with us. We are at church and God is here with us, like a mini roll call, naming the one we can’t see, but certainly experience. Really we could say this kind of thing anywhere, just reminding ourselves that God is with us and calling on all three of God’s names.
How grand is that to know that the grace of Jesus Christ is with us! That’s a lot of grace. No wonder Lutherans are so attached to grace! Grace is in your name, isn’t it—a good reminder of God’s love for you. It is a good reminder of your parents’ love for you. It is a good reminder of the community’s love for you. Grace means loved no matter what. It means forgiven when you make mistakes. It means that you are a gift of grace to us, a reminder of what is good. There may be times when you feel sad or angry, not graceful at all. But your name always stays the same to remind you of how God graces us with love and gifts and talents and hope—how everything is a gift from God. Even when you aren’t feeling particularly graceful, remember who you are, and know that you aren’t alone.
Secondly, we are offered the love of God. How big a love is that? God, in love, created all things, as we hear in the reading from Genesis. God was lonely. God wanted to relate to others. God had a lot of love to give—so God created everything, including you, Graycie. And God continues to create the world and each of us. That is obvious by the way you’re growing and learning. Just like God does, we too, get to love each other. If God created us good and loved us, we shouldn’t disrespect what God made, but instead love each other and treat each other like we’d like to be treated. And that includes this planet that God made. We are to love the animals and the plants, the seas, and the sky and all creation. God is love. We are God’s children, so love is what we’re all about, too.
And finally we’re offered the communion of the Holy Spirit. God didn’t want us to feel alone. God sent us Jesus to go through what we go through and see what it is like to be a toddler in a new situation or a teenager experiencing hormones, or a young man trying to find meaning in life, or an innocent person accused of crimes and sentenced to death, or a misunderstood teacher, or a guy who just wanted a moment’s peace, or a person who loved people so much that he gave of himself without holding back. Whatever you’re experiencing in life, Graycie, God knows what you’re going through and is going through it with you. You aren’t alone. God understands.
And when it was time for Jesus to ascend, he wanted to make sure we knew that we’d still know that God is right here with us. So we get the Holy Spirit. Sometimes we think of the Holy Spirit as God living in our heart. That works to a certain extent. But it is also important to remember that it is when we are together in community that we really experience the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is between people, or between people and nature. It is when we come together that we are strengthened in our faith. We can remind each other of the stories either from the Bible, or that our parents shared with us about their faith, or stories about how our family came through a crisis or worked together to solve a problem, or faced grief and found hope. The Holy Spirit is with us when we gather to worship and try to puzzle out our faith or work through our doubts. It helps us ask questions of ourselves and God. On our own, we might figure some of it out, but isn’t it so much better in community when you know you aren’t the only one asking that question and others with more experience have gone before and can shed some light on the situation—give it some perspective.
The Holy Spirit connects us with God. She connects us with our family. She connects us with our church community. And she connects us with all of Christianity in all times in all places, those who have gone before and those who will come after us. The Holy Spirit is about communion and community.
So now that I’ve explained it all, you are all set for a life of faith, aren’t you? We’ll, I tell you, Graycie, I wish we could give you all the answers. I wish we could hand you a lifetime of faith and that you’d breeze right through. But we all have to admit that most of the time we don’t get it, either. Like the disciples in Matthew, we also doubt. We lose our way. We screw up royally. We’re all just bumbling along together, trusting God to lead our little flock of sheep, feed us, and care for us, etc. There is no one right way to be loving. There is such a thing as cheap grace and people take advantage of one another’s forgiveness. And people in community are not always pleasant to be around. Being a Christian is messy. Being a person is messy. You might like that idea now, but there will be a time when you’d like it to all come together and it won’t. But that isn’t the end of the world. God doesn’t need us to be perfect or to have all the answers, not even the pastor has to! Instead God asks us to trust and to seek and to love and God will make something beautiful of all our messes.
Father’s day is a wonderful day for celebrating the Trinity and having a baptism. Fathers know what it is like to live in the tension, for there not to be any right answers. From what I understand fatherhood and parenthood is partly about taking it as it comes, responding to each situation individually. It seems to be kind of a guess and check system, learning as you go. Knowing yourselves I think helps with parenthood and sometimes make it harder. The deep bond your parents have with each other is helpful—they’ve been through difficult things before and made it through and can bumble their way through the next one, too, and the next and the next. Watch your father, Graycie, and you will learn what it means to have faith and to try and sometimes fail and sometimes succeed, but also to know grace and have the freedom to try again.
In the same way, we can look to God the Father to try to figure out how to respond to our world. We can look to the love, grace, and communion all wrapped up in what God has in that great big diaper bag to lavish on us. Whether it is fatherhood, grandfatherhood, health issues, addiction, employment or lackthereof, family, church, or anything, we are not alone, we are accepted and loved, we are a part of something bigger, and ultimately we can find peace and hope even in the messy, confusing ambiguity that is life.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sermon for June 12, 2011
June 12, 2011 Aimee Bruno Gospel: John 20:19-23
1st Reading: Acts 2:1-21 Psalm 104:24-34, 35b 2nd Reading: 1 Cor. 12:3b-13
While the other Gospels wait 50 days before Jesus leaves us with the Holy Spirit, (get it—Pente-cost?) the Gospel of John has Jesus give us the Holy Spirit right away. In the Gospel of John, the coming of the Holy Spirit is all wrapped up in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, not separate at all like in the other Gospels.
Let’s put ourselves in the Pentecost story.
Jesus has just died on the cross. Our beloved friend has suffered tremendously. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. We had been elated all week, as he came into Jerusalem and finally got his due. We were celebrating the Passover with our friends and remembering all the ways that God had saved the people generation after generation. This looked like another way God was going to save the people. Jesus would be crowned and made king. He would make all things right, the hungry would be fed, and God would be worshipped. Everyone would be happy.
But that isn’t what happened at all. Instead he was arrested. Those who had supported him and cheered his entrance abandoned him. He was tortured, hung on a cross, and died.
We, too, had abandoned him. We had denied him when people asked us about him. We were afraid we’d be next to be executed. So we got the heck out of there. We went to a town that was a day’s walk away.
On the way, we didn’t talk much. We felt sad. We felt horrified. We felt guilty. We couldn’t get the images out of our minds—the last time we saw him, the look of the soldiers who arrested him, his resigned look, his chastising us for falling asleep in the garden while he prayed. If we had really believed that he would be taken from us, surely we would have spent that last week and that last night differently. We would have listened more closely. We would have taken notes. We would have forced ourselves to stay awake. We would have been more prepared to stand up to those who questioned us. But we didn’t really listen to what he was telling us, and we had let him down.
So we fled and when we got to our safe house, we locked the doors and just collapsed. What now? Where would we go? When would it be safe to go out again? When would people forget about Jesus and let us live our lives again?
But we could never forget about him. We could never forget his invitation to follow. We could never forget the different people he talked to and healed and fed and taught. We could never forget the love he showed to everyone. We could never forget the life he invited us to lead, without prejudice or putting ourselves above others, without judging, without borders. Jesus had shown us what freedom really is, when you don’t abide by societies rules, but by God’s rules of love for everyone. We’d never forget that.
And yet we were afraid. Living that way is so risky. Look where Jesus ended up. His love was so offensive to people they put him to death. Is that what we could expect? Could we take the heartache of working with the blind and neglected all the time? Could we give up our families and our possessions and comforts in order to be with the people where they are? Could we risk death to follow our friend’s ways? It was almost too much to think about.
We were in shock. We were overwhelmed. We were afraid.
And as we sat or stood or paced in that locked room that evening, the sun was just setting. We could the fires lighting the homes around us, smell supper cooking in the neighborhood, and hear the sounds of children being called in from play. We were wondering if we’d ever have that kind of normal life again.
And just then, suddenly, Jesus was there in our midst. Was I the only one who saw him there, wishful thinking making him so lifelike before me? Was this a ghost, come back to punish us, to admonish us for leaving him, for being faithless? We thought we were afraid before! Now the our pain and guilt was amplified in the presence of the one we had abandoned, after everything he taught us.
The specter spoke, “Peace be with you.” Was this supposed to be a relief—a ghost who comes in peace? Had this one who just experienced such a horrific death, really come to bring peace? Or was it some kind of trick? It was apparent that everyone else saw him, too. And he must have read our minds because he showed us his wounds—that he was not a ghost but in the flesh—and he was really present there. Why would he want to be with us? We were supposed to be his friends and we hadn’t been there for him. Wasn’t it time to get some new and better disciples?
And then Jesus breathed on us, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Spirit and wind and breath are the same word. He gave us his holy breath. He gave us the Holy Spirit—every last one of us.
We wondered what is this Holy Spirit? Of course now we know more about it. This is God’s Spirit that is always with us. It is God’s way of never abandoning us. It is a power that God has given us. We wondered how we would go on—how we would continue what Jesus taught us. We wondered how we’d heal and break down barriers and find the courage to talk to strangers and the dying and the imprisoned. But we’ve been learning to do it—not because of our own power, but because of the power of the Holy Spirit. Whenever we get discouraged or afraid, we remember that it isn’t by our own power, but with God’s help that we can do anything at all.
One of the most important thing the Spirit helps us with is forgiveness. We knew we were the first to need it. We had wronged Jesus so deeply when we’d left him to die. We had taken for granted our time with him. We hadn’t reached out to those in need. And yet, he came to us when we were afraid and gave us a word of peace. He’d forgiven us right of the bat. We hadn’t even asked for forgiveness. There may have been some of us who weren’t even sorry that we had high-tailed it out of there. But he offered us forgiveness nonetheless. There wasn’t anything anyone could do against us that was worse than what we’d done to him, and yet he came with a smile and handshake. We could tell by his demeanor that he had let it go. He was chatting with ease, telling us where he’d been and showing us his owies, checking in with us to see if we were ok.
We had been forgiven. There was not going to be anything we couldn’t forgive. We had to forgive ourselves, which is a lifelong journey of course. We had to learn to forgive each other. We had to learn to forgive others who hurt us, and that was always a balancing act. Some people tried to take advantage of that. We soon learned that to forgive doesn’t mean that we don’t hold people accountable. There are times when people must be held accountable or they’ll never learn the extent they hurt someone else and change their behavior. There had been real consequences to the way we had treated Jesus. He had died on the cross in agony. We’d never forget that as long as we lived.
This Holy Spirit gives us the power to forgive and other power as well. How has God empowered you? What has God empowered you for? What will you use your God-given power for this week? How will you share it with others? Is this a power over, or a power you can share, to empower other people? Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit. Receive the power of God. Share the power of God. Share an experience of God’s love with those you meet, knowing it is God who gives you the ability and will give you courage to use your gifts for the good of others, just as Jesus did for us all.
1st Reading: Acts 2:1-21 Psalm 104:24-34, 35b 2nd Reading: 1 Cor. 12:3b-13
While the other Gospels wait 50 days before Jesus leaves us with the Holy Spirit, (get it—Pente-cost?) the Gospel of John has Jesus give us the Holy Spirit right away. In the Gospel of John, the coming of the Holy Spirit is all wrapped up in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, not separate at all like in the other Gospels.
Let’s put ourselves in the Pentecost story.
Jesus has just died on the cross. Our beloved friend has suffered tremendously. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. We had been elated all week, as he came into Jerusalem and finally got his due. We were celebrating the Passover with our friends and remembering all the ways that God had saved the people generation after generation. This looked like another way God was going to save the people. Jesus would be crowned and made king. He would make all things right, the hungry would be fed, and God would be worshipped. Everyone would be happy.
But that isn’t what happened at all. Instead he was arrested. Those who had supported him and cheered his entrance abandoned him. He was tortured, hung on a cross, and died.
We, too, had abandoned him. We had denied him when people asked us about him. We were afraid we’d be next to be executed. So we got the heck out of there. We went to a town that was a day’s walk away.
On the way, we didn’t talk much. We felt sad. We felt horrified. We felt guilty. We couldn’t get the images out of our minds—the last time we saw him, the look of the soldiers who arrested him, his resigned look, his chastising us for falling asleep in the garden while he prayed. If we had really believed that he would be taken from us, surely we would have spent that last week and that last night differently. We would have listened more closely. We would have taken notes. We would have forced ourselves to stay awake. We would have been more prepared to stand up to those who questioned us. But we didn’t really listen to what he was telling us, and we had let him down.
So we fled and when we got to our safe house, we locked the doors and just collapsed. What now? Where would we go? When would it be safe to go out again? When would people forget about Jesus and let us live our lives again?
But we could never forget about him. We could never forget his invitation to follow. We could never forget the different people he talked to and healed and fed and taught. We could never forget the love he showed to everyone. We could never forget the life he invited us to lead, without prejudice or putting ourselves above others, without judging, without borders. Jesus had shown us what freedom really is, when you don’t abide by societies rules, but by God’s rules of love for everyone. We’d never forget that.
And yet we were afraid. Living that way is so risky. Look where Jesus ended up. His love was so offensive to people they put him to death. Is that what we could expect? Could we take the heartache of working with the blind and neglected all the time? Could we give up our families and our possessions and comforts in order to be with the people where they are? Could we risk death to follow our friend’s ways? It was almost too much to think about.
We were in shock. We were overwhelmed. We were afraid.
And as we sat or stood or paced in that locked room that evening, the sun was just setting. We could the fires lighting the homes around us, smell supper cooking in the neighborhood, and hear the sounds of children being called in from play. We were wondering if we’d ever have that kind of normal life again.
And just then, suddenly, Jesus was there in our midst. Was I the only one who saw him there, wishful thinking making him so lifelike before me? Was this a ghost, come back to punish us, to admonish us for leaving him, for being faithless? We thought we were afraid before! Now the our pain and guilt was amplified in the presence of the one we had abandoned, after everything he taught us.
The specter spoke, “Peace be with you.” Was this supposed to be a relief—a ghost who comes in peace? Had this one who just experienced such a horrific death, really come to bring peace? Or was it some kind of trick? It was apparent that everyone else saw him, too. And he must have read our minds because he showed us his wounds—that he was not a ghost but in the flesh—and he was really present there. Why would he want to be with us? We were supposed to be his friends and we hadn’t been there for him. Wasn’t it time to get some new and better disciples?
And then Jesus breathed on us, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Spirit and wind and breath are the same word. He gave us his holy breath. He gave us the Holy Spirit—every last one of us.
We wondered what is this Holy Spirit? Of course now we know more about it. This is God’s Spirit that is always with us. It is God’s way of never abandoning us. It is a power that God has given us. We wondered how we would go on—how we would continue what Jesus taught us. We wondered how we’d heal and break down barriers and find the courage to talk to strangers and the dying and the imprisoned. But we’ve been learning to do it—not because of our own power, but because of the power of the Holy Spirit. Whenever we get discouraged or afraid, we remember that it isn’t by our own power, but with God’s help that we can do anything at all.
One of the most important thing the Spirit helps us with is forgiveness. We knew we were the first to need it. We had wronged Jesus so deeply when we’d left him to die. We had taken for granted our time with him. We hadn’t reached out to those in need. And yet, he came to us when we were afraid and gave us a word of peace. He’d forgiven us right of the bat. We hadn’t even asked for forgiveness. There may have been some of us who weren’t even sorry that we had high-tailed it out of there. But he offered us forgiveness nonetheless. There wasn’t anything anyone could do against us that was worse than what we’d done to him, and yet he came with a smile and handshake. We could tell by his demeanor that he had let it go. He was chatting with ease, telling us where he’d been and showing us his owies, checking in with us to see if we were ok.
We had been forgiven. There was not going to be anything we couldn’t forgive. We had to forgive ourselves, which is a lifelong journey of course. We had to learn to forgive each other. We had to learn to forgive others who hurt us, and that was always a balancing act. Some people tried to take advantage of that. We soon learned that to forgive doesn’t mean that we don’t hold people accountable. There are times when people must be held accountable or they’ll never learn the extent they hurt someone else and change their behavior. There had been real consequences to the way we had treated Jesus. He had died on the cross in agony. We’d never forget that as long as we lived.
This Holy Spirit gives us the power to forgive and other power as well. How has God empowered you? What has God empowered you for? What will you use your God-given power for this week? How will you share it with others? Is this a power over, or a power you can share, to empower other people? Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit. Receive the power of God. Share the power of God. Share an experience of God’s love with those you meet, knowing it is God who gives you the ability and will give you courage to use your gifts for the good of others, just as Jesus did for us all.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sermon for May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 Aimee Bruno Gospel: John 14:15-21 1st Reading: Acts 17:22-31
Psalm 66:8-20 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 3:13-22
Many of you have read the book “Lonesome Dove” or seen the miniseries. Nick and I watched it a few years back and I’ve spent the last two weeks engrossed in this 900+ page novel—reading on the bus and Max and before bed, at lunch breaks, in the bathtub, on a blanket in the yard the day the sun came out, while I’m waiting for the noodles to boil, and every spare minute I’ve had. It is an engrossing book full of interesting characters and exciting adventures. I don’t mind that I already saw it, because I forget most of what I watch on TV and there are all kinds of details and twists and turns that they couldn’t fit in the miniseries.
The cowboys of the Hat Creek Cattle Company start out in Arkansas, but any good adventure means travel. It isn’t long before they’ve got someplace to go. It is something different that motivates each person. Augustus is going after Clara, the long lost love of his life. Jake Spoon is going after riches. Some of the young cow hands they take with them are on the cattle drive for the adventure and some because their families can’t feed them. Deets is going as a tracker, to do what he’s good at. July isn’t with these cowboys but you know he will cross tracks with them. He’s looking first for the man who shot his brother and then for his runaway wife. Everyone there has a reason for being on the journey. Those who don’t have a good enough reason to go, end up turning back, like the cook.
“Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is within you.” The same is true for each of us. Everyone has a reason—a motivation for being on this journey of faith. Each of us has a story about where we were before we were here, what brought us here, and what’s happened to us since we got here. We’ve all got a story about whether we found what we were looking for, or if we’re now looking for something different than when we started. We’ve all got a story about what we’re good at, how we each fill a role here at our church and how that has changed over the years.
How often do we tell that story? I’ve probably got it easier than you. I don’t usually like people to know first thing that I’m a pastor. I like them to see me as a human being first. But when they find out what I do, they often get curious and want to know how I came to this point and what I do all day. In seminary I had to learn to tell my story. We had to write our faith story so many times! We had to tell it in small groups and then for chaplaincy. We got pretty tired of our own story. However, it is good to have this skill when you meet someone new—to be able to pare it down to a two sentence faith story or a 30 minute story. Still when I meet new pastors, we often eventually tell one another the story of our journey of faith, an accounting of the faith that is in us. When people get curious about my story, it is always an opportunity for me to get curious about theirs and ask them to share about their journey. I’ve got an automatic “in.” I get to cheat a little.
Some of you know your own story inside and out. Some of you know each other’s stories. Some of you joined this church at the same time. Many of you have gone on difficult legs of this journey together and know each other deeply because of your shared experience. But some people here are newer. Even those of you who’ve known each other a long time have new parts of your story to add. How often do we practice telling our faith story to one another? Could that give us confidence in telling our story more widely in a respectful, and inviting way to those we meet?
It is also about more than sharing it in our faith community. Look at Paul in the reading from Acts. He’s telling his story in the government center. He’s had practice telling his story. He doesn’t start out telling the good news by saying, “People, you’ve got it all wrong.” He starts out by complimenting them, and praising their religion. He makes connections with where they are, mentioning the shrine of the unknown God and linking it with the God who created everything. He tells a story about our unity with one another, that we are from one ancestor, made of the same substance and all of us close to God. He brings up their own poets. He knows their culture. He’s being respectful as he tells what he knows about God and gives an account of the hope that is in him, “with gentleness and reverence” as it says in 1 Peter. You can tell he’s listened deeply to their story and also joined his with theirs.
There are people of extraordinary faith that you meet once in a while. I’m not talking about a painted-on smile. I’m talking about a genuine faith that keeps them firmly rooted, calm in a storm. When I meet those people, I like to ask them to give an account of the faith within them. I want a piece of that story to take with me so I can learn to be calm rather than afraid and so I can hold firmly to my faith when everything is falling apart. It makes my faith stronger when I hear those stories.
A couple of weeks ago a child who has been visiting the congregation asked me about baptism when we were sitting at coffee hour. She attends our church and two other churches, so I asked her if she’d seen a baptism and what happened and her thoughts on baptism. And I asked her if she wanted to be baptized here or at one of her other churches. She said at King of Kings and of course I was curious as to why. She told me that the pastor is nice, of course—she had to say that! And then she clearly gave an accounting of the faith that was in her, what gives her hope. She said that the people here listen to her and care about her.
What a clear testimony from a little girl! She knew what it was that drew her here and kept bringing her back and was drawing her into a deeper relationship with God. Even though she’s a kid, she feels that she’s treated like a fellow human being at this place. And that isn’t the case everywhere she goes.
Isn’t that the world we live in! We don’t always get treated with respect, like human beings. We don’t always listen or get listened to. The world puts us down and tries to keep us down. Sometimes our church does, too. Last week I talked about how we could be more tolerant with each other and just deal when we feel uncomfortable with others’ behaviors. This week, I want to share that although we can always do better, for many it is happening! I had a proud moment when I heard this girl say that this church is doing its job. It is listening to the little children and the elderly, the hungry, the disabled. It is seeing the human being in each person, seeing God in each person, the holy, our oneness in Christ. There is no difference between this little girl and any one of the rest of us—she is a child of God and we will treat her so. And the same is true of each person, if you’re in a wheel-chair, if your eyesight is failing, if you’re divorced, if you are gay or lesbian, if you are bald, or pregnant, or emotionally unstable, or talk too much or too little, or sing off key—this is a place where everyone is valued and treated with respect and according to this little girl, it is really happening at this place. So keep up the good work!
And don’t just let it happen here, but take it to everyone you meet during the week—listen to them like Jesus listens to you. It could make all the difference in a person’s life.
I would probably have chosen for you to have a conversation this week, to share with one another an accounting of your faith and hope. However some of you feel this disrupts the flow of the service. So I’m going to invite you to do it at coffee hour. Share a bit of your faith story this week at coffee hour and find the chance this week to be curious about the faith of someone you come into contact with. Ask them what gives them hope and really listen and be ready to share a little of where your hope comes from in a way that honors both of you as fully human children of God.
Psalm 66:8-20 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 3:13-22
Many of you have read the book “Lonesome Dove” or seen the miniseries. Nick and I watched it a few years back and I’ve spent the last two weeks engrossed in this 900+ page novel—reading on the bus and Max and before bed, at lunch breaks, in the bathtub, on a blanket in the yard the day the sun came out, while I’m waiting for the noodles to boil, and every spare minute I’ve had. It is an engrossing book full of interesting characters and exciting adventures. I don’t mind that I already saw it, because I forget most of what I watch on TV and there are all kinds of details and twists and turns that they couldn’t fit in the miniseries.
The cowboys of the Hat Creek Cattle Company start out in Arkansas, but any good adventure means travel. It isn’t long before they’ve got someplace to go. It is something different that motivates each person. Augustus is going after Clara, the long lost love of his life. Jake Spoon is going after riches. Some of the young cow hands they take with them are on the cattle drive for the adventure and some because their families can’t feed them. Deets is going as a tracker, to do what he’s good at. July isn’t with these cowboys but you know he will cross tracks with them. He’s looking first for the man who shot his brother and then for his runaway wife. Everyone there has a reason for being on the journey. Those who don’t have a good enough reason to go, end up turning back, like the cook.
“Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is within you.” The same is true for each of us. Everyone has a reason—a motivation for being on this journey of faith. Each of us has a story about where we were before we were here, what brought us here, and what’s happened to us since we got here. We’ve all got a story about whether we found what we were looking for, or if we’re now looking for something different than when we started. We’ve all got a story about what we’re good at, how we each fill a role here at our church and how that has changed over the years.
How often do we tell that story? I’ve probably got it easier than you. I don’t usually like people to know first thing that I’m a pastor. I like them to see me as a human being first. But when they find out what I do, they often get curious and want to know how I came to this point and what I do all day. In seminary I had to learn to tell my story. We had to write our faith story so many times! We had to tell it in small groups and then for chaplaincy. We got pretty tired of our own story. However, it is good to have this skill when you meet someone new—to be able to pare it down to a two sentence faith story or a 30 minute story. Still when I meet new pastors, we often eventually tell one another the story of our journey of faith, an accounting of the faith that is in us. When people get curious about my story, it is always an opportunity for me to get curious about theirs and ask them to share about their journey. I’ve got an automatic “in.” I get to cheat a little.
Some of you know your own story inside and out. Some of you know each other’s stories. Some of you joined this church at the same time. Many of you have gone on difficult legs of this journey together and know each other deeply because of your shared experience. But some people here are newer. Even those of you who’ve known each other a long time have new parts of your story to add. How often do we practice telling our faith story to one another? Could that give us confidence in telling our story more widely in a respectful, and inviting way to those we meet?
It is also about more than sharing it in our faith community. Look at Paul in the reading from Acts. He’s telling his story in the government center. He’s had practice telling his story. He doesn’t start out telling the good news by saying, “People, you’ve got it all wrong.” He starts out by complimenting them, and praising their religion. He makes connections with where they are, mentioning the shrine of the unknown God and linking it with the God who created everything. He tells a story about our unity with one another, that we are from one ancestor, made of the same substance and all of us close to God. He brings up their own poets. He knows their culture. He’s being respectful as he tells what he knows about God and gives an account of the hope that is in him, “with gentleness and reverence” as it says in 1 Peter. You can tell he’s listened deeply to their story and also joined his with theirs.
There are people of extraordinary faith that you meet once in a while. I’m not talking about a painted-on smile. I’m talking about a genuine faith that keeps them firmly rooted, calm in a storm. When I meet those people, I like to ask them to give an account of the faith within them. I want a piece of that story to take with me so I can learn to be calm rather than afraid and so I can hold firmly to my faith when everything is falling apart. It makes my faith stronger when I hear those stories.
A couple of weeks ago a child who has been visiting the congregation asked me about baptism when we were sitting at coffee hour. She attends our church and two other churches, so I asked her if she’d seen a baptism and what happened and her thoughts on baptism. And I asked her if she wanted to be baptized here or at one of her other churches. She said at King of Kings and of course I was curious as to why. She told me that the pastor is nice, of course—she had to say that! And then she clearly gave an accounting of the faith that was in her, what gives her hope. She said that the people here listen to her and care about her.
What a clear testimony from a little girl! She knew what it was that drew her here and kept bringing her back and was drawing her into a deeper relationship with God. Even though she’s a kid, she feels that she’s treated like a fellow human being at this place. And that isn’t the case everywhere she goes.
Isn’t that the world we live in! We don’t always get treated with respect, like human beings. We don’t always listen or get listened to. The world puts us down and tries to keep us down. Sometimes our church does, too. Last week I talked about how we could be more tolerant with each other and just deal when we feel uncomfortable with others’ behaviors. This week, I want to share that although we can always do better, for many it is happening! I had a proud moment when I heard this girl say that this church is doing its job. It is listening to the little children and the elderly, the hungry, the disabled. It is seeing the human being in each person, seeing God in each person, the holy, our oneness in Christ. There is no difference between this little girl and any one of the rest of us—she is a child of God and we will treat her so. And the same is true of each person, if you’re in a wheel-chair, if your eyesight is failing, if you’re divorced, if you are gay or lesbian, if you are bald, or pregnant, or emotionally unstable, or talk too much or too little, or sing off key—this is a place where everyone is valued and treated with respect and according to this little girl, it is really happening at this place. So keep up the good work!
And don’t just let it happen here, but take it to everyone you meet during the week—listen to them like Jesus listens to you. It could make all the difference in a person’s life.
I would probably have chosen for you to have a conversation this week, to share with one another an accounting of your faith and hope. However some of you feel this disrupts the flow of the service. So I’m going to invite you to do it at coffee hour. Share a bit of your faith story this week at coffee hour and find the chance this week to be curious about the faith of someone you come into contact with. Ask them what gives them hope and really listen and be ready to share a little of where your hope comes from in a way that honors both of you as fully human children of God.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Sermon for May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 Gospel: John 14:1-14 1st Reading: Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 2:2-10
I’ve probably preached on this text 20 or more times, because it is the most often chosen text for memorial services. Maybe some of you even have this Gospel lesson picked out for your service someday. At those memorial services I always wonder what people think when they hear this reading. Many don’t attend church on a regular basis. This might be the only sermon they hear all year. And I don’t get the chance to go into the particulars of the gospel at a time like that. We’re there to remember a person we love. We’re there to be comforted by God’s presence. We’re not there for the pastor to explain this text in detail so we catch the full meaning.
So now I get to do just that. I love this text and it can be very comforting to people who grew up in the church or who have a strong faith to sustain them. To them/us, it says, there is a place for us. We will be with God. Our faith and belief have led to a life of generosity and love. We can trust God and be at peace. We are in God’s hands.
But this text has been misused. It has led some to question whether their faith or belief is good enough. It has led to some people telling others that if they haven’t accepted Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior then they aren’t good enough believers and their faith doesn’t count. It has led some people to decide that everyone else besides Christians are going to hell. Far from causing people’s hearts not to be troubled, this reading has done some of the most damage and caused some of the greatest anxiety of any text in the Bible.
If we start at the beginning we hear some calming words of Jesus, “Calm down, people. It is going to be okay. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be anxious.” This is one of the best reasons this text works so well when a loved one has died. It starts with comforting words. Often hearts are troubled because the loss is so deep. How do you say goodbye? Did you say everything you wanted to say? Do you carry guilt about something you did or didn’t do? How will life go on, and how will it be changed? This phrase is like the hand of God on our shoulder giving us comfort for our troubled hearts.
Jesus’ followers’ hearts were troubled, because no sooner had he been raised from the dead, he hangs around with them for a month or so, and now he’s making a farewell speech that he’s going away again. He’s going to ascend to God. He’s not going to be there physically anymore. They just got him back from the grave! Now he’s leaving! Certainly they were troubled.
The next part talks about the Father’s dwelling place. There is plenty of room for everyone. That is also very comforting when someone has died. You can almost picture them there. Sometimes it is used to say just the opposite—that space is limited in heaven. And is the Father’s dwelling place only in heaven? We sometimes call the church God’s house, when describing it to children. The reading from 1 Peter describes a structure of stone, with Jesus as the cornerstone. This was probably written not long after the temple had been destroyed. Imagine if you were hearing this sermon as you stood over the smoldering ruins of our church after an earthquake. That’s the situation in which Peter is preaching.
He’s now asking not to focus too much on the building, but to visualize another kind of temple. He talks about a living structure and letting ourselves be built into a spiritual house. It isn’t about the church building or the temple, the stones and wood and carvings. God dwells in the community.
When Jesus talks about the many dwelling places of God, might that be our own bodies? Can we live in God and God in us before we die? The Gospels confirm that we can and do. When the people ask Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, “Where did we see you hungry and thirsty and give you food and drink.” He answers, “Whatsoever you did to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did also to me.” God dwells in people. That is God’s house. Sure there is plenty of room in the afterlife for our loved ones, but can’t we move into God’s house now and let God move into ours? Why wait?
Next we get reassured that where God is, we are. That works for both the living and the dead. Let’s live as if where God is, we are. Let’s go to where God has promised to be, especially among the poor.
Then Jesus says, “No one comes to the Father, except through me,” and “I am the way and the truth and the life.” Some hear this as saying, if you haven’t heard of the man named Jesus, then you’re toast. If you haven’t heard of him, too bad. If you’re Jewish, too bad. If you’re Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, or Athiest, too bad. It is a pretty harsh condemnation from the God of love. Is this the God we believe in? There are indications in both the Old and New Testament that the Jewish people are God’s people and have a place with God forever and even some foreigners. There are clues that those who lived before the time of Jesus have a place with God. Additionally, perhaps the many dwelling places refers to the wide variety of folks that God holds in God’s care and even redeems, maybe even of different religions.
Another way of looking at it is that no one comes to the Father except through Jesus’ way—especially his way of love and truth and life. Those who never knew him and those whom Christians have turned away from Jesus because of their hypocritical, judgmental and even violent ways, may still know Jesus’ ways and follow them. Should they be faulted that we misrepresented God to them?
What is Jesus way, anyway? His way of love and truth and life was about being honest, being with people he wasn’t supposed to hang out with, sharing his presence and teaching with nobodies, and giving life to all on the cross. I think he’s inviting us to try it his way. We have our way of trying to earn God’s love, or pretending to be perfect, or learning all the right answers, or getting lazy about our faith, or beating ourselves up. Those things have all failed us.
Jesus is asking us here to follow his way of service, of dying and rising to new life, of going where we’re not supposed to and breaking the rules, of telling the truth even when it isn’t popular, of sharing everything we have.
Just like the stones used in one lesson to destroy Stephen’s life and in another to build a spiritual house, acceptable to God, these readings and any in the Bible can be used to tear down or build up. If we remember that we are the dwelling place of God, maybe we will remember to be more intentional about building up, or letting God build up through us. And when our structures fall as they are bound to do, let’s remember that we are resurrection people and new life can come from the ruins.
I know that in our attempts to create a meaningful and rich worship experience, we have stepped on toes at times. We have torn some people down, when we could have been building them up and encouraging them. Sometimes maybe we get too focused on our own preferences and getting it just right, instead of just letting things be. When there is rambling during announcements or a particularly long and heartfelt prayer or we can’t hear everything that’s being said, maybe we don’t have to reign that in, but can let the spirit of God unfold even if it makes us uncomfortable. Maybe we should especially be looking for the presence of God when we are uncomfortable—it could be a signal. Jesus made a lot of people uncomfortable. His death stirred up a lot of troubled hearts.
When we’re troubled, that’s a good time to stop and examine ourselves, rather than point to someone else as the source of our unhappiness. Ask yourself, what is it about me that I am uncomfortable? Can I live with this anxiety for the moment? Can it teach me something about myself and about the rag-tag people that God calls home? Can it tell me something about why God would choose me, as fallible and flawed as I am, to be a follower and a leader in this community and a vessel bearing unconditional love to this world?
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 2:2-10
I’ve probably preached on this text 20 or more times, because it is the most often chosen text for memorial services. Maybe some of you even have this Gospel lesson picked out for your service someday. At those memorial services I always wonder what people think when they hear this reading. Many don’t attend church on a regular basis. This might be the only sermon they hear all year. And I don’t get the chance to go into the particulars of the gospel at a time like that. We’re there to remember a person we love. We’re there to be comforted by God’s presence. We’re not there for the pastor to explain this text in detail so we catch the full meaning.
So now I get to do just that. I love this text and it can be very comforting to people who grew up in the church or who have a strong faith to sustain them. To them/us, it says, there is a place for us. We will be with God. Our faith and belief have led to a life of generosity and love. We can trust God and be at peace. We are in God’s hands.
But this text has been misused. It has led some to question whether their faith or belief is good enough. It has led to some people telling others that if they haven’t accepted Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior then they aren’t good enough believers and their faith doesn’t count. It has led some people to decide that everyone else besides Christians are going to hell. Far from causing people’s hearts not to be troubled, this reading has done some of the most damage and caused some of the greatest anxiety of any text in the Bible.
If we start at the beginning we hear some calming words of Jesus, “Calm down, people. It is going to be okay. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be anxious.” This is one of the best reasons this text works so well when a loved one has died. It starts with comforting words. Often hearts are troubled because the loss is so deep. How do you say goodbye? Did you say everything you wanted to say? Do you carry guilt about something you did or didn’t do? How will life go on, and how will it be changed? This phrase is like the hand of God on our shoulder giving us comfort for our troubled hearts.
Jesus’ followers’ hearts were troubled, because no sooner had he been raised from the dead, he hangs around with them for a month or so, and now he’s making a farewell speech that he’s going away again. He’s going to ascend to God. He’s not going to be there physically anymore. They just got him back from the grave! Now he’s leaving! Certainly they were troubled.
The next part talks about the Father’s dwelling place. There is plenty of room for everyone. That is also very comforting when someone has died. You can almost picture them there. Sometimes it is used to say just the opposite—that space is limited in heaven. And is the Father’s dwelling place only in heaven? We sometimes call the church God’s house, when describing it to children. The reading from 1 Peter describes a structure of stone, with Jesus as the cornerstone. This was probably written not long after the temple had been destroyed. Imagine if you were hearing this sermon as you stood over the smoldering ruins of our church after an earthquake. That’s the situation in which Peter is preaching.
He’s now asking not to focus too much on the building, but to visualize another kind of temple. He talks about a living structure and letting ourselves be built into a spiritual house. It isn’t about the church building or the temple, the stones and wood and carvings. God dwells in the community.
When Jesus talks about the many dwelling places of God, might that be our own bodies? Can we live in God and God in us before we die? The Gospels confirm that we can and do. When the people ask Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew, “Where did we see you hungry and thirsty and give you food and drink.” He answers, “Whatsoever you did to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did also to me.” God dwells in people. That is God’s house. Sure there is plenty of room in the afterlife for our loved ones, but can’t we move into God’s house now and let God move into ours? Why wait?
Next we get reassured that where God is, we are. That works for both the living and the dead. Let’s live as if where God is, we are. Let’s go to where God has promised to be, especially among the poor.
Then Jesus says, “No one comes to the Father, except through me,” and “I am the way and the truth and the life.” Some hear this as saying, if you haven’t heard of the man named Jesus, then you’re toast. If you haven’t heard of him, too bad. If you’re Jewish, too bad. If you’re Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, or Athiest, too bad. It is a pretty harsh condemnation from the God of love. Is this the God we believe in? There are indications in both the Old and New Testament that the Jewish people are God’s people and have a place with God forever and even some foreigners. There are clues that those who lived before the time of Jesus have a place with God. Additionally, perhaps the many dwelling places refers to the wide variety of folks that God holds in God’s care and even redeems, maybe even of different religions.
Another way of looking at it is that no one comes to the Father except through Jesus’ way—especially his way of love and truth and life. Those who never knew him and those whom Christians have turned away from Jesus because of their hypocritical, judgmental and even violent ways, may still know Jesus’ ways and follow them. Should they be faulted that we misrepresented God to them?
What is Jesus way, anyway? His way of love and truth and life was about being honest, being with people he wasn’t supposed to hang out with, sharing his presence and teaching with nobodies, and giving life to all on the cross. I think he’s inviting us to try it his way. We have our way of trying to earn God’s love, or pretending to be perfect, or learning all the right answers, or getting lazy about our faith, or beating ourselves up. Those things have all failed us.
Jesus is asking us here to follow his way of service, of dying and rising to new life, of going where we’re not supposed to and breaking the rules, of telling the truth even when it isn’t popular, of sharing everything we have.
Just like the stones used in one lesson to destroy Stephen’s life and in another to build a spiritual house, acceptable to God, these readings and any in the Bible can be used to tear down or build up. If we remember that we are the dwelling place of God, maybe we will remember to be more intentional about building up, or letting God build up through us. And when our structures fall as they are bound to do, let’s remember that we are resurrection people and new life can come from the ruins.
I know that in our attempts to create a meaningful and rich worship experience, we have stepped on toes at times. We have torn some people down, when we could have been building them up and encouraging them. Sometimes maybe we get too focused on our own preferences and getting it just right, instead of just letting things be. When there is rambling during announcements or a particularly long and heartfelt prayer or we can’t hear everything that’s being said, maybe we don’t have to reign that in, but can let the spirit of God unfold even if it makes us uncomfortable. Maybe we should especially be looking for the presence of God when we are uncomfortable—it could be a signal. Jesus made a lot of people uncomfortable. His death stirred up a lot of troubled hearts.
When we’re troubled, that’s a good time to stop and examine ourselves, rather than point to someone else as the source of our unhappiness. Ask yourself, what is it about me that I am uncomfortable? Can I live with this anxiety for the moment? Can it teach me something about myself and about the rag-tag people that God calls home? Can it tell me something about why God would choose me, as fallible and flawed as I am, to be a follower and a leader in this community and a vessel bearing unconditional love to this world?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
May 15, 2011 Aimee Bruno Gospel: John 10:1-10 1st Reading: Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 2:19-25
We learned this week that a close elderly relative of Nick’s was the victim of a scam. She thought it was her grandson calling her, saying he had been arrested in the Dominican Republic and needed bail, and by the way, don’t tell dad. So she sent the money. Then he called again the next week—the money never arrived. So she sent it again. Then he called again the week after, needing $40,000. She became very upset at that point—she didn’t have that kind of money! That’s when it all came to light. In the meantime she lost thousands of dollars. She’s embarrassed. She’s sad. Her kids told her she just has a big heart, but be sure to consult them next time.
Jesus said, “The one who does not enter by the gate is a thief and a bandit.” And, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” And, “The sheep will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.”
People fall for scams every day. These thieves count on the fact that grandparents may not recognize the voice of their own grandchild or know what’s going on with their grandkids, or even what country they are in. The person calls and simply says, “Hi grandma, it’s me.” They count on the elderly to guess which grandchild it is. They don’t even need to know the name of the person—just call them grandma and it will melt their heart. This poor boy was crying and carrying on on the phone with her. How could she not reach out to him? And these scammers use a tactic to keep people from asking relatives their advice, “Don’t tell dad or mom.” I’m sure you’re all too smart to fall for anything like this, but anytime someone asks you to keep a secret like that, red flags should go up all over the place!
Sometimes religion has been used to scam people. People have been duped out of possessions and money in similar communities to the one mentioned in the book of Acts this morning. The crying televangelists have begged for money to help the poor or keep the station alive. All too often these televangelists are living in luxury and the money isn’t going where they say it will.
I noticed last week my godson put on his Facebook page his answer to a quiz, “What is the most told lie?” He chose an answer among 5 other answers, “Religions.” Ouch. I felt dissed as a pastor, and like a failed godmother. I hope he didn’t mean everything about religion, but I may never know, because I only see him once or twice a year. How can I pass on the faith to a kid who never goes to church and who I see so infrequently? Am I to blame? What could I have done differently? He’s 15—am I already too late? From his answer to this quiz can I assume that he sees Christians, or even me, as a liar, a thief, and a bandit? Is it appropriate to ask him about this—to take time out of the few hours a year we have together to debate him, get defensive, get him to clarify his questions and try to answer them as best I can? Or is it better to let him wrestle with it and find his own way and just continue to show interest and concern in his life, living and sharing my faith in a quieter, less pushy way? Can I just quietly respect his opinion without it reflecting on me and let his life unfold how it will? If I judge him won’t I make religion more of a lie? That’s not what we’re about!
And maybe it isn’t religion I need to pass on to him, but abundant life. That’s what Jesus stood for and came to bring, not religion. That’s what God wants for us. That’s what I want for my godson, even more than sitting in church or beating himself up about his sins.
It isn’t wealth that I want for him, even though that sometimes gets confused with abundant life in our culture. His family has that, at least way more than mine did at that time. Last year he went with his class on a trip to the East Coast. They went to Ground Zero, the Liberty Bell, and countless other historical sites, along with an amusement park. I was a bit appalled at the expense of the trip, but pleased that he could have that experience when he’s at such an impressionable age. That kind of experiential learning will be with him his whole life. It could shape what he chooses to do with his life, how he sees people who are different from him, how he sees his place in history. I hope that it was more than an expensive diversion, but that he grew in abundant life and that he will want to share abundant life with others because of that experience.
I have been privileged to accompany some of you on your journey in abundant life. For some of you it has been the transition to retirement. Some of you have reflected on your working life in anticipation of retirement. Some of you have jumped in with both feet. Others have dawdled on the shore, sticking your toe in to test the waters. But you all found abundant life your own way—volunteering, caring for grandchildren, traveling. It has all led to abundant life. For some of you, it has required a move, or several moves. When you didn’t expect to find abundant life in a retirement home, it found you!
And I feel that even the journey toward death can be a journey of abundant life. It was with Judith and it was with Darleen. Even those who resist and struggle come to the point where abundant life is handed to them and they go peacefully into the arms of God.
It is a difficult image of Jesus as the gatekeeper, keeping some out and letting some in. It sounds like he picks and chooses, loves and hates. Shepherds used to lay across the opening of the fence to protect the sheep at night. They were the actual gate. If we think of Jesus laying across the threshold, putting himself in harm’s way to protect the sheep, the people—that might be a more helpful image. And during the day he gets up and lets the sheep out and accompanies them on the hillsides all day long as they eat grass and shrubs, checking them for injury with his staff, going out in search of them when they get lost, leading them to water and greener pastures. And if you remember some of the other sheepy texts in the Bible—“’none shall be missing,’ says the LORD. It isn’t a matter of the gate letting in some sheep and not others, protecting some sheep and not others. All the sheep are there, under God’s loving care. And he calls them all by name—did you know that sheep can learn their names and come when specifically called, like cats or dogs? At least like dogs. My cats all think their names are kitty, kitty and go where they please and come when they feel like it! But they know my voice. They aren’t going to come when the neighbor calls kitty, kitty. We found that out the hard way when we asked our neighbor to feed our cats when we were gone one time. Our little Bitey disappeared for the week, rather than come when the neighbor man called!
So what does that mean for us? We are a community, a flock. Our neighbors, too, are in our flock. We try to make sure our neighbors are fed. We work together with other flocks, other congregations, to share the pasture and the abundant life at the pantry. We are working on strengthening our flock and community as we work on redevelopment in the areas of evangelism and serving, visitation, and worship. We are moving forward with plans for our church to have more focus and relevance for today. The flock has to always be moving forward. If they stay too long in one place, they eat every green thing there and then all of a sudden look up and wonder where all the green grass went. The shepherd keeps them on the move, rotating fields where they can eat and fertilize, providing for abundant life.
Sometimes abundant life means suffering—that’s part of life. Change is difficult—it may mean suffering. Giving to others may mean doing without something we might like to have—it might mean a little tweak of pain here or there as we give something up. I know Bible School is a time of abundant life, and boy do I ache at the end of the day, at the end of the week! It takes a lot of work and time and encouraging. And it is all worth it in the end. We don’t suffer in vain. It is all for the cause of abundant life. So please don’t think the second lesson is telling you take abuse of a spouse or child or bully or scammer, or to abuse yourself and torment yourself with shame or self-hatred. Yes, Jesus suffered, but he also stood up for the truth and what was right. Yes, they abused and tortured him and hung him on a cross, but not before he stood up to them and made them see the wrong they had been doing. Yes, he gave up his life, but it was for the purpose of sharing abundant life with those who didn’t have it. We will suffer and go through growing pains. We will die to our old ideas of who we are and we’ll have to let go of some things we thought were central in order to make room for Jesus to transform us and grow us. But it is always in order to bring us to abundant life and for us to share that abundant life as widely as possible with all God’s beloved children.
"Blessing of the Gate" by Jan Richardson
Press your hand to this blessing, here along the side where you can feel its seam.
Follow the seam and you will find the hinges on which this blessing turns.
Feel how your fingers catch on them—top, bottom,the slightest pressure sending the gate gliding open in a glad welcome.
Wait, did I say press your hand to this blessing?
What I meant was press your hand to your heart.
Rest it over that place in your chestthat has grown closed and tight,where the rust, with its talent for making decay look artful,has bitten into what you once held dear.
Breathe deep. Press on the knot and feel how it begins to give way,turning upon the hinge of your heart.
Notice how it opens wide and wider still as you exhale,
spilling you out into a realm where you never dreamed to gobut cannot now imagine living this life without.
Psalm 23 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 2:19-25
We learned this week that a close elderly relative of Nick’s was the victim of a scam. She thought it was her grandson calling her, saying he had been arrested in the Dominican Republic and needed bail, and by the way, don’t tell dad. So she sent the money. Then he called again the next week—the money never arrived. So she sent it again. Then he called again the week after, needing $40,000. She became very upset at that point—she didn’t have that kind of money! That’s when it all came to light. In the meantime she lost thousands of dollars. She’s embarrassed. She’s sad. Her kids told her she just has a big heart, but be sure to consult them next time.
Jesus said, “The one who does not enter by the gate is a thief and a bandit.” And, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” And, “The sheep will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.”
People fall for scams every day. These thieves count on the fact that grandparents may not recognize the voice of their own grandchild or know what’s going on with their grandkids, or even what country they are in. The person calls and simply says, “Hi grandma, it’s me.” They count on the elderly to guess which grandchild it is. They don’t even need to know the name of the person—just call them grandma and it will melt their heart. This poor boy was crying and carrying on on the phone with her. How could she not reach out to him? And these scammers use a tactic to keep people from asking relatives their advice, “Don’t tell dad or mom.” I’m sure you’re all too smart to fall for anything like this, but anytime someone asks you to keep a secret like that, red flags should go up all over the place!
Sometimes religion has been used to scam people. People have been duped out of possessions and money in similar communities to the one mentioned in the book of Acts this morning. The crying televangelists have begged for money to help the poor or keep the station alive. All too often these televangelists are living in luxury and the money isn’t going where they say it will.
I noticed last week my godson put on his Facebook page his answer to a quiz, “What is the most told lie?” He chose an answer among 5 other answers, “Religions.” Ouch. I felt dissed as a pastor, and like a failed godmother. I hope he didn’t mean everything about religion, but I may never know, because I only see him once or twice a year. How can I pass on the faith to a kid who never goes to church and who I see so infrequently? Am I to blame? What could I have done differently? He’s 15—am I already too late? From his answer to this quiz can I assume that he sees Christians, or even me, as a liar, a thief, and a bandit? Is it appropriate to ask him about this—to take time out of the few hours a year we have together to debate him, get defensive, get him to clarify his questions and try to answer them as best I can? Or is it better to let him wrestle with it and find his own way and just continue to show interest and concern in his life, living and sharing my faith in a quieter, less pushy way? Can I just quietly respect his opinion without it reflecting on me and let his life unfold how it will? If I judge him won’t I make religion more of a lie? That’s not what we’re about!
And maybe it isn’t religion I need to pass on to him, but abundant life. That’s what Jesus stood for and came to bring, not religion. That’s what God wants for us. That’s what I want for my godson, even more than sitting in church or beating himself up about his sins.
It isn’t wealth that I want for him, even though that sometimes gets confused with abundant life in our culture. His family has that, at least way more than mine did at that time. Last year he went with his class on a trip to the East Coast. They went to Ground Zero, the Liberty Bell, and countless other historical sites, along with an amusement park. I was a bit appalled at the expense of the trip, but pleased that he could have that experience when he’s at such an impressionable age. That kind of experiential learning will be with him his whole life. It could shape what he chooses to do with his life, how he sees people who are different from him, how he sees his place in history. I hope that it was more than an expensive diversion, but that he grew in abundant life and that he will want to share abundant life with others because of that experience.
I have been privileged to accompany some of you on your journey in abundant life. For some of you it has been the transition to retirement. Some of you have reflected on your working life in anticipation of retirement. Some of you have jumped in with both feet. Others have dawdled on the shore, sticking your toe in to test the waters. But you all found abundant life your own way—volunteering, caring for grandchildren, traveling. It has all led to abundant life. For some of you, it has required a move, or several moves. When you didn’t expect to find abundant life in a retirement home, it found you!
And I feel that even the journey toward death can be a journey of abundant life. It was with Judith and it was with Darleen. Even those who resist and struggle come to the point where abundant life is handed to them and they go peacefully into the arms of God.
It is a difficult image of Jesus as the gatekeeper, keeping some out and letting some in. It sounds like he picks and chooses, loves and hates. Shepherds used to lay across the opening of the fence to protect the sheep at night. They were the actual gate. If we think of Jesus laying across the threshold, putting himself in harm’s way to protect the sheep, the people—that might be a more helpful image. And during the day he gets up and lets the sheep out and accompanies them on the hillsides all day long as they eat grass and shrubs, checking them for injury with his staff, going out in search of them when they get lost, leading them to water and greener pastures. And if you remember some of the other sheepy texts in the Bible—“’none shall be missing,’ says the LORD. It isn’t a matter of the gate letting in some sheep and not others, protecting some sheep and not others. All the sheep are there, under God’s loving care. And he calls them all by name—did you know that sheep can learn their names and come when specifically called, like cats or dogs? At least like dogs. My cats all think their names are kitty, kitty and go where they please and come when they feel like it! But they know my voice. They aren’t going to come when the neighbor calls kitty, kitty. We found that out the hard way when we asked our neighbor to feed our cats when we were gone one time. Our little Bitey disappeared for the week, rather than come when the neighbor man called!
So what does that mean for us? We are a community, a flock. Our neighbors, too, are in our flock. We try to make sure our neighbors are fed. We work together with other flocks, other congregations, to share the pasture and the abundant life at the pantry. We are working on strengthening our flock and community as we work on redevelopment in the areas of evangelism and serving, visitation, and worship. We are moving forward with plans for our church to have more focus and relevance for today. The flock has to always be moving forward. If they stay too long in one place, they eat every green thing there and then all of a sudden look up and wonder where all the green grass went. The shepherd keeps them on the move, rotating fields where they can eat and fertilize, providing for abundant life.
Sometimes abundant life means suffering—that’s part of life. Change is difficult—it may mean suffering. Giving to others may mean doing without something we might like to have—it might mean a little tweak of pain here or there as we give something up. I know Bible School is a time of abundant life, and boy do I ache at the end of the day, at the end of the week! It takes a lot of work and time and encouraging. And it is all worth it in the end. We don’t suffer in vain. It is all for the cause of abundant life. So please don’t think the second lesson is telling you take abuse of a spouse or child or bully or scammer, or to abuse yourself and torment yourself with shame or self-hatred. Yes, Jesus suffered, but he also stood up for the truth and what was right. Yes, they abused and tortured him and hung him on a cross, but not before he stood up to them and made them see the wrong they had been doing. Yes, he gave up his life, but it was for the purpose of sharing abundant life with those who didn’t have it. We will suffer and go through growing pains. We will die to our old ideas of who we are and we’ll have to let go of some things we thought were central in order to make room for Jesus to transform us and grow us. But it is always in order to bring us to abundant life and for us to share that abundant life as widely as possible with all God’s beloved children.
"Blessing of the Gate" by Jan Richardson
Press your hand to this blessing, here along the side where you can feel its seam.
Follow the seam and you will find the hinges on which this blessing turns.
Feel how your fingers catch on them—top, bottom,the slightest pressure sending the gate gliding open in a glad welcome.
Wait, did I say press your hand to this blessing?
What I meant was press your hand to your heart.
Rest it over that place in your chestthat has grown closed and tight,where the rust, with its talent for making decay look artful,has bitten into what you once held dear.
Breathe deep. Press on the knot and feel how it begins to give way,turning upon the hinge of your heart.
Notice how it opens wide and wider still as you exhale,
spilling you out into a realm where you never dreamed to gobut cannot now imagine living this life without.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Gospel: Luke 24:13-35 Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
1st Reading: Acts 2:14a, 36-41 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 1:17-23
The heart is a wondrous and mysterious organ. I bring it up because it is mentioned in all three readings this morning. Plus the fact that on Wednesday morning I got to see my fetus’ heart beating on the ultrasound. We could see all four heart ventricles and see them beating. The heartbeat was 130 beats per minute, which is in the normal range although it could be higher. I just take it as evidence that I will have a calm child. I would have been fascinated to see that kind of image on any kind of creature, but multiply that curiosity by ten because this creature is inside me with half my DNA and someone I’m going to be caring for in a few months.
When I was a chaplain in the hospital I had the most amazing opportunity to witness a bypass surgery. I’ve never seen anything so amazing in all my life. I don’t want to gross you all out, but to see them when they were ready, put the heart back in the chest cavity, and to watch it start beating again—it was truly a miracle. The life-saving surgery, itself, was a miracle. The fact that that tissue beat as a heart was a miracle. The way the blood carries oxygen to the cells and the carbon dioxide and other poisons away from them—I just can’t get over the miracle of the heart.
There is a lot more to the heart than just blood being pumped all over the body. When we get upset, our hearts race. When we are in love, our hearts leap—literally, I have felt it myself. We associate hearts with love, maybe because of that tight feeling in the chest that we feel. Our hearts send our bodies messages with different chemicals. Our hearts tell us things our minds can’t.
The first reading this morning talks about a crowd being cut to the heart. Something that Peter has said has touched them very deeply. It wasn’t a soft, comfortable feeling like a pat on the back. It was a jolt. It might have been a little painful. They were cut, not to the skin, not to the bone, but to the heart. Peter is telling them that Jesus is the Messiah. And they recognize some truth in what he’s saying. It isn’t easy information to take in. If Jesus is really is the Messiah, their lives are going to change. They thought they’d be following a strong Messiah and take up arms to fight the powers of oppression with him. They thought he would ascend the throne and tell them all exactly what to do. They thought when the Messiah came, they would be rich and well-fed and their enemies would be their slaves. But this isn’t the Messiah they got.
Instead of all the things they expected to be doing, they have to repent, turn around, change direction. Their minds have to change direction. Their hearts have to change direction. They have to be washed clean in baptism. They have to die with Christ. They have to be vulnerable to the powers like Christ. They have to give of themselves like Christ. What else could they do? Their hearts are being cut with a knife. They see clearly. Their hearts perceive the truth of Jesus’ way, of Jesus’ teaching. Now that they have heard Peter’s testimony, they can’t go back. Their hearts are going forward. The heart only pumps in one direction. Sometimes the heart doesn’t get all the blood pumping the right way and it gets stuck in a ventricle in a circular pattern and causes the heart to become enlarged. When the heart pumps the blood forward, the enriched blood goes out and nourishes the body. And the blood on its return picks up all the nasty stuff that needs to be removed. It is only forward with the blood and the heart and it is only forward with God’s people and God’s plan.
The second lesson talks both about the blood and the heart. It says we were ransomed by the precious blood of Christ. The blood in the Jewish faith, is the life. They understood without blood you can’t have life. That’s why they are so careful with blood. When they butcher an animal, they are careful to spill the blood in a certain way to cause the animal little to no suffering. Where blood is spilled, special handling instructions are found in the Old Testament. If you have someone with a hemorrhage, that person must be isolated. Women had to be purified after childbirth or menstruation. It was all considered very powerful and potentially dangerous. So now we’ve got this powerful blood of Jesus coming to our aid. And in Holy Communion we also drink that blood. It seems for one thing, the Christians wanted to differentiate themselves from Judaism. The early Christians said, “We’re not Jewish.” They asked some people to choose one religion or the other and this blood imagery and communion was one way to do that. They co-opted a symbol of danger and power to be avoided and turned it around to one with saving powers that you should come into contact with. It was Jesus being willing to pour out that blood, to die, that showed us how to die and rise to new life. And maybe some of this blood imagery was because early disciples of Christ did die in horrific ways for their faith. And this was another way to reassure them.
The second reference in the second lesson says, “Love one another deeply from the heart.” This has nothing to do with blood. This isn’t about our physical bodies. This is a love that cuts deeply. It isn’t just actions. It isn’t just feelings. It isn’t just going through the motions. It is forgiveness. It is sacrificial love. It is a deep connection of community. It isn’t based on what you can do for me. It is the kind of love that Christ has for us. And when you think of that kind of love, it makes it hard to keep hating your enemies.
This whole debate about how we should feel about Osama bin Laden’s death and whether we should celebrate or mourn more violence in our world. We are probably never going to love OBL as he’s now being called, and certainly not deeply from the heart. But can we acknowledge that God knew him when he was smaller than my fetus? Can we acknowledge that his mother and wife and children loved him? Can we picture him in God’s arms? Can we picture Jesus’ arms outstretched for him? I don’t know if there was any part of that man worth redeeming. But if there was then surely Jesus came even to redeem him. Maybe part of us is secretly or not so secretly celebrating, or relieved. And maybe there is part of us that is from God that is sad that it has to come to bloodshed and violence and wonders what further violence this could generate. Let’s pray for the soul of OBL and for his family and friends and for love instead of hatred in our world. That’s what it means to pray for your enemies.
And now to the gospel reading. The disciples on the road to Emmaus—their hearts are slow to believe. Hearts can believe! Hearts can hope. You can ponder things in your heart, like Mary did. Later these two realize their hearts had been burning while Jesus was talking to them. It wasn’t heartburn. It was that feeling when your heart knows something and you don’t. Your heart is trying to tell you something. “Pay attention!” Maybe it is part of what we call intuition.
By the time I am fully pregnant, my blood flow will have increased 50%. It might make me dizzy. I need to drink more water. I need to eat right and take more iron and vitamins. As that part of me increases, I can’t help but think about the growth that can’t be measured on the sonogram or by standing on a scale. How will that intuition part of me grow and how will I grow toward motherhood? It is a work of the heart that is apparently never finished as many of you have been showing me.
Our faith is never just a matter of the eyes because we believe what we haven’t seen. It isn’t just a matter of the brain, getting our mind around God’s love for us—it just can’t be done. It is a matter of the heart: God reaching our hearts with a word, a promise, a loving act. It is a matter of God challenging us and cutting to our hearts, softening our hearts in love toward one another, and filling our hearts until they are overflowing and until we love the world with the heart of God.
1st Reading: Acts 2:14a, 36-41 2nd Reading: 1 Peter 1:17-23
The heart is a wondrous and mysterious organ. I bring it up because it is mentioned in all three readings this morning. Plus the fact that on Wednesday morning I got to see my fetus’ heart beating on the ultrasound. We could see all four heart ventricles and see them beating. The heartbeat was 130 beats per minute, which is in the normal range although it could be higher. I just take it as evidence that I will have a calm child. I would have been fascinated to see that kind of image on any kind of creature, but multiply that curiosity by ten because this creature is inside me with half my DNA and someone I’m going to be caring for in a few months.
When I was a chaplain in the hospital I had the most amazing opportunity to witness a bypass surgery. I’ve never seen anything so amazing in all my life. I don’t want to gross you all out, but to see them when they were ready, put the heart back in the chest cavity, and to watch it start beating again—it was truly a miracle. The life-saving surgery, itself, was a miracle. The fact that that tissue beat as a heart was a miracle. The way the blood carries oxygen to the cells and the carbon dioxide and other poisons away from them—I just can’t get over the miracle of the heart.
There is a lot more to the heart than just blood being pumped all over the body. When we get upset, our hearts race. When we are in love, our hearts leap—literally, I have felt it myself. We associate hearts with love, maybe because of that tight feeling in the chest that we feel. Our hearts send our bodies messages with different chemicals. Our hearts tell us things our minds can’t.
The first reading this morning talks about a crowd being cut to the heart. Something that Peter has said has touched them very deeply. It wasn’t a soft, comfortable feeling like a pat on the back. It was a jolt. It might have been a little painful. They were cut, not to the skin, not to the bone, but to the heart. Peter is telling them that Jesus is the Messiah. And they recognize some truth in what he’s saying. It isn’t easy information to take in. If Jesus is really is the Messiah, their lives are going to change. They thought they’d be following a strong Messiah and take up arms to fight the powers of oppression with him. They thought he would ascend the throne and tell them all exactly what to do. They thought when the Messiah came, they would be rich and well-fed and their enemies would be their slaves. But this isn’t the Messiah they got.
Instead of all the things they expected to be doing, they have to repent, turn around, change direction. Their minds have to change direction. Their hearts have to change direction. They have to be washed clean in baptism. They have to die with Christ. They have to be vulnerable to the powers like Christ. They have to give of themselves like Christ. What else could they do? Their hearts are being cut with a knife. They see clearly. Their hearts perceive the truth of Jesus’ way, of Jesus’ teaching. Now that they have heard Peter’s testimony, they can’t go back. Their hearts are going forward. The heart only pumps in one direction. Sometimes the heart doesn’t get all the blood pumping the right way and it gets stuck in a ventricle in a circular pattern and causes the heart to become enlarged. When the heart pumps the blood forward, the enriched blood goes out and nourishes the body. And the blood on its return picks up all the nasty stuff that needs to be removed. It is only forward with the blood and the heart and it is only forward with God’s people and God’s plan.
The second lesson talks both about the blood and the heart. It says we were ransomed by the precious blood of Christ. The blood in the Jewish faith, is the life. They understood without blood you can’t have life. That’s why they are so careful with blood. When they butcher an animal, they are careful to spill the blood in a certain way to cause the animal little to no suffering. Where blood is spilled, special handling instructions are found in the Old Testament. If you have someone with a hemorrhage, that person must be isolated. Women had to be purified after childbirth or menstruation. It was all considered very powerful and potentially dangerous. So now we’ve got this powerful blood of Jesus coming to our aid. And in Holy Communion we also drink that blood. It seems for one thing, the Christians wanted to differentiate themselves from Judaism. The early Christians said, “We’re not Jewish.” They asked some people to choose one religion or the other and this blood imagery and communion was one way to do that. They co-opted a symbol of danger and power to be avoided and turned it around to one with saving powers that you should come into contact with. It was Jesus being willing to pour out that blood, to die, that showed us how to die and rise to new life. And maybe some of this blood imagery was because early disciples of Christ did die in horrific ways for their faith. And this was another way to reassure them.
The second reference in the second lesson says, “Love one another deeply from the heart.” This has nothing to do with blood. This isn’t about our physical bodies. This is a love that cuts deeply. It isn’t just actions. It isn’t just feelings. It isn’t just going through the motions. It is forgiveness. It is sacrificial love. It is a deep connection of community. It isn’t based on what you can do for me. It is the kind of love that Christ has for us. And when you think of that kind of love, it makes it hard to keep hating your enemies.
This whole debate about how we should feel about Osama bin Laden’s death and whether we should celebrate or mourn more violence in our world. We are probably never going to love OBL as he’s now being called, and certainly not deeply from the heart. But can we acknowledge that God knew him when he was smaller than my fetus? Can we acknowledge that his mother and wife and children loved him? Can we picture him in God’s arms? Can we picture Jesus’ arms outstretched for him? I don’t know if there was any part of that man worth redeeming. But if there was then surely Jesus came even to redeem him. Maybe part of us is secretly or not so secretly celebrating, or relieved. And maybe there is part of us that is from God that is sad that it has to come to bloodshed and violence and wonders what further violence this could generate. Let’s pray for the soul of OBL and for his family and friends and for love instead of hatred in our world. That’s what it means to pray for your enemies.
And now to the gospel reading. The disciples on the road to Emmaus—their hearts are slow to believe. Hearts can believe! Hearts can hope. You can ponder things in your heart, like Mary did. Later these two realize their hearts had been burning while Jesus was talking to them. It wasn’t heartburn. It was that feeling when your heart knows something and you don’t. Your heart is trying to tell you something. “Pay attention!” Maybe it is part of what we call intuition.
By the time I am fully pregnant, my blood flow will have increased 50%. It might make me dizzy. I need to drink more water. I need to eat right and take more iron and vitamins. As that part of me increases, I can’t help but think about the growth that can’t be measured on the sonogram or by standing on a scale. How will that intuition part of me grow and how will I grow toward motherhood? It is a work of the heart that is apparently never finished as many of you have been showing me.
Our faith is never just a matter of the eyes because we believe what we haven’t seen. It isn’t just a matter of the brain, getting our mind around God’s love for us—it just can’t be done. It is a matter of the heart: God reaching our hearts with a word, a promise, a loving act. It is a matter of God challenging us and cutting to our hearts, softening our hearts in love toward one another, and filling our hearts until they are overflowing and until we love the world with the heart of God.
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